


What's Eating You?

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Series: The Pacemakers [33]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Animal Attack, Eventual Happy Ending, Fear of Discovery, Lies, Literary References & Allusions, Major Character Injury, Making Up, Medical Trauma, Minor Injuries, Multi, Pace Mates, Protective Brawn, Relationship Advice, Sneaking Around, Suspicions, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4716962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beachcomber didn't learn his lesson the first time with the lagoon of electrum...Again he's decided to keep a potentially dangerous secret and his friends aren't too happy about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Eating You?

“Hey! What happened to your arm?”

Beachcomber glanced up at Powerglide’s surprised exclamation. “Oh, that,” he hummed, placing a hand over the slash marring his mesh. “It’s not much; I wasn’t watchin’ where I was going and caught myself on something. Not sure what. In fact, I didn’t even really notice it.”

Powerglide studied it closely. “You should probably get Ratchet to take a look at it. It’s kinda deep.”

Shrugging, Beachcomber smiled, answering lightly, “I’m stronger than I look. Like I said, I barely felt it. But…yeah, getting Ratchet’s a good idea; I think I will.”

His pace-leader responded with an approving nod and patted him further up on that arm before going on his way. Beachcomber’s smile faltered a little and he swallowed nervously, his vocals burning with his last sentence. Already he was regretting the lie, but at the very least he was glad he hadn’t been caught. Powerglide’s pace was not nearly as close as Brawn’s; they were a pace that had been later-developed, somewhat…haphazardly thrown together, and unlike any pace before them, they all recharged in separate rooms.

That wasn’t the others’ fault, Beachcomber knew—it was his own, due to his bringing in stray animals. None of the others felt comfortable recharging with the risk of a bunny or two sitting on their helm. Who could blame them? They had their own areas of nature—the seas, the skies, the space, etcetera. But through it all, though they might just be held together by a string, Beachcomber could tell Powerglide was trying to keep involved.

If only he’d tried just a _little_ harder with him, maybe Beachcomber would trust him with this.

Beachcomber sighed as he gingerly patted the wounded mesh once more, pushing aside the sting and firmly reminding himself that keeping this secret was definitely for the best.

—

“He had another cut today,” Powerglide admitted, pushing aside his energon cube so he could pat his arm. “Right here. He told me he couldn’t remember how it happened. I mean, I know he’s absentminded and all, but that…just doesn’t feel right.”

Brawn nodded sagely, swallowing his mouthful of medium-grade so he could agree, “Then there’s probably something up. Trust your gut, ’Glide. If he won’t tell you what’s been happening, who’s been pushing him around, you need to find out by other means.”

Powerglide raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. “What d’you mean, ‘other means’?”

“Well, when we first arrived on Earth and we didn’t know many of these Bots very well, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker decided it’d be funny to put a beatdown on Gears,” Brawn narrated, his face darkening at the mere mention of the experience. “Gears didn’t wanna tell us what happened, but when our pace-mates cornered him, he ended up confessing. Gave us the opportunity to tell the Twins that they should never mess with one of _mine_. Ever. And they haven’t since.”

“Do you think they’ve targeted my pace instead?” Powerglide fretted, clenching his fists.

“Not what I’m saying,” Brawn soothed him, holding out a hand placatingly. “What I’m saying is: get your pace-mates in on the action, use them to coax whatever’s bothering ’Comber out of him. You should never let a mate mess around with their health.”

“Ha! Says the one who tried to tell us he just needed to ‘sleep off’ the Stimurus,” Cliffjumper snarked as he approached, pulling Brawn into an argument that the rest of Minibot Pace One eagerly joined.

Powerglide slipped from their usual table to give them space, mulling over Brawn’s advice and forgetting about the energon cube he’d left. At the moment, whatever was affecting Beachcomber had taken his appetite.

—

Now that Beachcomber’s secret had been brought to his attention, this particular pace-mate was all too happy to ask him about it. Powerglide had seemed concerned, more than was typical for him, and that did _not_ sit well with Warpath. As a soldier, he had a simple view on life and everyone knew it by spark: fight skillfully, fight confidently, fight boisterously, and keep it on the battlefield. The last bit was what remained in his processor at the moment. Tension among the ranks of the pace just wouldn’t do.

He approached the living quarters he had originally helped Powerglide choose, before they’d given up in the face of an Earth herd of strays. Steeling himself, Warpath simply walked into the door, letting the protrusion of his cannon knock for him.

A screech, followed by howls and twitters and hisses, answered him. Some things didn’t change, Warpath mused, raising his voice to a shout to be heard over the inside ruckus: “’ _Comber_! Can I RING! SVZZZ! come in?”

After a few minutes the door did SVZZZ slide open, revealing Beachcomber with his arms behind his back and a smile on his face that should have been innocent. Warpath marched in and Beachcomber narrowly dodged the cannon spearing into his gut. Warpath couldn’t help but be pleased by how easily this was coming already.

“How’s it going, ’Comber?” he asked, leaning down to study the animals hiding underneath Beachcomber’s berth. “I see you kept the SPROING! bunnies.”

Beachcomber laughed a little nervously. “That’s right. They just wanted to feel comfortable.”

That was his way in. “What about you?” Warpath asked, straightening and turning while being careful not to concuss any animals with the movement. “Are you comfortable?”

“What? Here?” Beachcomber faltered, looking taken aback; the fact that Warpath’s vocal programming hadn’t inserted a sound effect had made sure that the question got his attention.

“Yeah. With your POOF! SCREEECH! furries, with the other Bots, y’know…with us,” Warpath clarified. He wasn’t known for his subtlety, but he was doing his best. Sooner or later Beachcomber might understand where this was leading.

“I…sure,” Beachcomber said at last, shrugging noncommittally. “Yes, I’m fairly comfortable, though it’s not Cybertron.”

Warpath nodded, sitting on the edge of a thermal tarp which didn’t have suspicious residue staining it. “’Kay. Just wanted to CLICK-CHING! make sure.” Warpath paused, sweeping up his flinchy pace-mate in a calculating gaze. There was a fresh dent on the right side of Beachcomber’s chest and just above that near the base of his neck were a couple of poorly-sterilized slashes.

“What’ve you been up to?” he asked, again thanking Primus that his vocals had cooperated in keeping it serious.

“Just taking care of my animals,” Beachcomber answered oh-so-innocently. “And trying to clean up this room a little.”

“You should focus on cleaning up your shoulder,” Warpath pointed out, gesturing to the two thick trails of energon sliding into the dent.

It was the wrong thing to say; Beachcomber’s visor dimmed, taking on a distant quality that unnerved Warpath slightly. Not many things unnerved him like a buddy retreating from him, but as terrible as it was, he recognized that particular look. He wouldn’t be getting anything useful out of ’Comber now.

“Just a TWIIP! SNAP! suggestion,” he backpedaled, mumbling some kind of excuse and cursing himself as he made a retreat.

—

Beachcomber plodded through the woods, glancing over his shoulder every few minutes to be sure he wasn’t being followed. Ever since Warpath’s impromptu…whatever it was…Beachcomber had been on high alert. If the others discovered his secret, who knew what impact it could have on his mission? All he wanted was to finish this mission successfully and then everything would return to normal! He could stop feeling so guilty.

In a way this situation reminded him of the time with the pool of electrum that he had kept secret from the rest of the Bots. In fact, he had _never_ told them about his foreknowledge of the ‘weapon’, simply because he so strongly hated the fact that it had been destroyed. But even if he were to tell the others about this, he doubted they would be the least bit interested.

On that premise, he had withdrawn from Warpath, knowing it would have the vice-versa effect. Whatever Warpath’s operation had been, he’d failed and they both knew it. Beachcomber wished he could be satisfied with this outcome.

 _Stop moping_ , he scolded himself as he looked back once more. _Warp’ is tough; it won’t hurt his feelings or anything…I hope_.

Finally he reached his destination, slowing to a near-crawl and bringing himself down to a hunch to be less threatening. He had done the same the last few times he had come and it had seemed to help somewhat. Crouching when he came to the middle of the clearing, Beachcomber waited.

He waited quite a while, until he was almost starting to doubt himself, and then heard a familiar rustling in the trees. He smiled slightly, prepared to meet his mission face to face.

Instead, a foreign—and yet all too familiar—whirring broke the peaceful silence, followed by an echoic voice reaching down into the clearing. “Beachcomber! I’m glad I found you!”

“Cosmos?” Beachcomber gasped, rising to his feet and backing away as his pace-mate transformed and dropped to the ground in front of him. Beachcomber could tell by the scrunch of his optics that he was smiling behind his facemask, but it just broke Beachcomber’s spark all the more.

“Wh-what’re you doing here?” he stammered, trying to keep panic out of his voice.

“Um, well, I wanted to see where you would go,” Cosmos admitted sheepishly. “I thought maybe you would want some company.”

“I didn’t—I don’t,” Beachcomber answered, sharper than he had intended. Of course he hadn’t thought to check the skies; Cos had been following him from _above_! But Cosmos wasn’t Warpath, so the surprise and hurt was clear in his optics. Of all the mechs to push away, it was forever-lonely Cosmos who had to interrupt his mission. If only…

Too late now. “You’ve gotta leave, Cosmos,” Beachcomber informed him, peeking nervously into the surrounding forest for the arrival he awaited. “Really, I _need_ you to leave.”

Cosmos shuffled slightly closer instead of away, protesting, “But—”

“Please,” Beachcomber begged. “Get _out_ of here!” Before he could think of something strong enough to say for Cosmos to go in the right direction, another rustling noise interrupted. Beachcomber held up a hand, dropping back to the ground.

“What’s that?” Cosmos whispered, hand reaching for his blaster.

“Don’t draw a weapon; why does _everything_ require a weapon?” Beachcomber hissed. “Get down and please stay quiet.” Mercifully Cosmos obeyed, hunkering down next to him, and Beachcomber was able to focus on the bush currently stirring.

Seeming to trust the quiet, the new intruder emerged, and Beachcomber winced when Cosmos gasped in awe. Beachcomber’s current mission was a Ravage-esque Earth animal, its fur shimmering black on the top and slate-gray on the underside. Beachcomber vented softly, carefully extending a hand.

“Hello again,” he whispered.

“Again?” Cosmos echoed, stunned. Beachcomber put his other hand on Cosmos’ arm to keep him still, reaching the other a bit farther. The large cat growled quietly, its ears twitching.

“Let’s see if I can learn your language,” he murmured, activating his assimilation program and analyzing the sounds the cat was making at him.

“I—I don’t like this, ’Comber,” Cosmos said in an urgent pedal tone. “I think I’d like to go.”

His faint hope that someone might share in this exciting experience was already dwindling. “Alright,” Beachcomber sighed, gesturing behind him toward the beginning of the trees. “Just don’t—”

Before he could finish, Cosmos had leapt to his feet and was transforming, startling the animal. The cat snarled and hunched down, baring its teeth—

Even without the assimilation program, Beachcomber knew what that meant from experience.

“—don’t _run!_ ” he cried futilely.

The wild thing lunged, tackling Cosmos mid-transformation and forcing him back to his base mode. Beachcomber yelped in horror while Cosmos and his attacker both howled, rolling and kicking chaotically around the clearing.

Beachcomber rose to a standing position, trembling helplessly. Cosmos flailed, trying to pick up a fallen tree branch, a rock, anything, but the beast was dragging him away from his objective.

“Blaster!” Cosmos screeched. “Blaster!”

For a nanoklik Beachcomber thought Cosmos was calling for his close friend, the tape deck, but then he laid optics on the _weapon_ in question. Picking it up, he held it out in front of him, hating its unfamiliar feel. He couldn’t get a clear shot on their constantly moving forms and even if he could, would he be able to kill the beautiful creature he was trying to tame?

It was _mauling_ his pace-mate. He had to!

Before he could even attempt aiming, a thunderous boom and the crackle of trees falling caught his attention. The cat paid it no mind, snapping at Cosmos’ facemask and hooking its claws deep into his shoulders. Beachcomber dropped the gun in his shock as Warpath plowed into sight in tank form, bowing the trees to his weight. The turbines of a plane roared overhead, followed by the pressurized hum of a hovercraft.

Beachcomber gaped as the rest of the pace burst into action, clutching his audials as their battle cries reverberated like a miniature sonic boom. Warpath swiveled his cannon entirely around, the sheer force plowing the predator away from his prey. The cat roared as it swung around and returned, lunging and scrabbling to hang onto the barrel of the cannon. Powerglide intervened, scooping up a rock and hurling it at the beast’s back. Ricocheting off of Warpath’s base, the feline rushed straight for their leader, only to be side-tracked by a thick torrent of water, courtesy of Seaspray.

Even then, the drenched, slightly hobbled creature shrugged it off, tensing to spring one last time. It was then that Beachcomber’s assimilation program finished translating the data he’d collected these past few days and he finally put it to use, fluctuating the tones to emulate the roar of a predator. The cat perked up and at last bounded away.

“Cosmos, are you okay?” he cried in dismay, rushing forward only to be stopped by Powerglide transforming and barking at him:

“Hitch him onto my back; he needs Ratchet ASAP!”

—

“Was that WHAP! SMASH! kitty your secret?”

Beachcomber, hunched in a chair outside the medical bay, glanced up at Warpath and nodded solemnly.

“You were tryin’ to _tame_ it, weren’t you?” Powerglide spat.

Another wordless nod.

“You can’t save them all, Beachcomber,” Seaspray gurgled sternly. “In fact, you can’t even _befriend_ some of them.”

“I know,” Beachcomber muttered, staring intensely at his hands, clenched between his knees.

“I learned that the hard way.”

That brought his face up. “What do you mean? You…swim.”

Seaspray nodded vigorously. “You bet I do. I swim with quite a few animals I think you would like. There was one that I kept coming across when I went out into deep water—a long, sleek thing with a couple fins on his back and a wide, flat head like a hammer. I thought it would be a good idea to get a picture of it for you because I knew you’d be interested.”

Beachcomber perked up. Seaspray had seen something on his turf—his surf—and had thought of _him_? What _he_ was interested in?

“Anyway, you remember that one time I came back with one of my rotors compressed?”

“That wasn’t a compression!” Warpath protested. “That was SCREE! SMASH! sheet metal.”

Seaspray bubbled a laugh and shrugged. “I suppose. Well, that hammerhead is what did it.”

Plunking his chin into one hand, Beachcomber sighed, “Then I guess I got _two_ pace-mates injured because of my love for this planet’s inhabitants.”

Powerglide waved his hands about as though to erase Beachcomber’s words. “Animals are animals, Beachcomber. Sometimes you can’t control ’em. But what _was_ your fault was Cosmos comin’ along in the first place. I sent him after you and we followed him at a safe distance.”

“Why?”

“You think we would see dents and scratches on you and just let it go?!” Powerglide demanded. “I’m pace-leader! It’s my job to find out what goes on with each of ya! If you hadn’t kept this a secret from us, we probably could’ve helped you, maybe even could have prevented some of those scratches of yours.”

Beachcomber shrugged glumly and Powerglide leaned down, recapturing his optics.

“You need to trust us more, Beachcomber. That’s the point of a pace—honor through union, union through trust, and trust through love. Those were our vows, right?”

“Yeah,” Beachcomber whispered.

“And we’re interested in what you love, even if it’s not ‘our thing’,” Powerglide concluded. “Maybe it would _become_ one of our things if we had someone who could teach us about it. So…” Pulling a chair in front of Beachcomber, Powerglide plopped down and crossed his arms. “What was that thing that attacked us? It had to be pretty powerful to hold us all off for that long!”

As the other two found their own seats, leaning forward expectantly, Beachcomber sat a little straighter, reciting quietly, “ _Primus hasn’t promised skies always blue, flower-strewn pathways all our lives through; Primus hasn’t promised sun without rain, joy without sorrow or peace without pain_. _But Primus has promised strength for the day, rest for the labor and light for the way, grace for the trials, help from above, unfailing sympathy, undying love_.”

At their blank looks, he spread his hands mysteriously. “Who knows? Maybe poetry will become one of your things.”

All three looked skeptical, but for once it made him smile.


End file.
